The Angel of Music's Legacy
by RachyBaby09
Summary: Christine comforts Erik as he lay dying of his love. But his failed legacy lives. An Angel of Music is born. Erik & Christine find that love transcends all barriers. Can that which caused Erik's death give him life?
1. Parting

Exposition... follows Susan Kay's ending. Erik is sick and dying. Christine lays with him, comforting him on his deathbed. But will also reference Leroux, musical, and film.

Can that which caused the Phantom's death, ultimately give him life?

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Chapter One

Parting

He was dying of love.

"Oh, Erik…" Christine tightly embraced Erik, softly crying into his cold shoulder. She pressed her body snugly against his own, nestling in his weakening hold. Sniffling into his chest, "…you are not alone, my Angel…you are not alone…" She passionately repeated her words over and over, making certain Erik knew she was here for him, and always would be.

Erik had been alone in life; Christine would be sure, he knew, he was not alone in death. He was loved, appreciated, and in the arms of someone who truly valued him…for him. Someone who held undying compassion and loyalty for her beloved Angel of Music. Christine relaxed her head against Erik's heaving chest, listening to the beautiful, slowing melody of his heartbeat.

"Christine, oh… Christine…my… angel… beautiful… angel…" Erik peered down at his mourning angel through his half-mask. His voice had always been so magnificent, so strong, so powerful. So captivating. Just as Erik's cursed face doomed him, his heavenly voice's rich music soothed Christine. Caressed her soul; awoke her desires. Embraced her with true beauty and love. But now, it was fragile, weak and dying. His fading voice frighted and broke Christine's heart.

The mask's small eye hole and Erik's stiff, reclining position prevented a good view of Christine. She felt Erik straining his limp neck, trying to meet eyes with an angel. His Angel of Music. As he faintly recited her name beneath his breath, she unmasked him.

She had been, in every sense, a true, breathing angel of his. Christine had brought light and hope to his never ending darkness; he had grown to love her far more than himself. Until Christine, Erik truly believed he was incapable of ever loving another.

Yet now, Erik lay dying in the arm's of his beloved. His Christine Daaé. He had asked that his mask be left on during his last moments; he wanted him and Christine to be fully at peace. Comfortable. Hurt and insulted, she had opposed Erik's request, "Your haunted face holds no horror for me... I have seen... I have grown to know... to appreciate... to love the man behind the mask." And she had. What began as a false prophet, now was a man she had grown to love.

And a most exquisite kind of love.

Still, he persisted that the mask be left untouched.

But Christine broke their agreement during their final moments together. Carelessly, she tossed Erik's treasured disguise to the stone ground and tenderly caressed his newly exposed flesh. With a delicate touch, her hands explored his fatal flaw. Despite his severely deformed half, Erik was quite beautiful**—**though, he saw otherwise. His struggle was not because the world could not accept him. It was because Erik was unable to accept himself. Despite Erik's every human flaw, he was still in a way the Angel of Music.

Erik's eyes had always captivated her; they were so deep, so inviting... so sorrowful. Two rare, emerald gems. Erik was a well built, masculine man. Christine had developed a powerful**—**and dark—attraction to him. He embodied everything masculine in one, fleshy form: power, strength, mystery, and the darkest shade of seduction. Like a moth to a flame, Erik had an enticing way of luring delicate beauty to his own, burning desires... only to scorch away the 'winged' beauty's innocence.

She loved her childhood sweetheart, Raoul De Chagny, but the Phantom offered her affection that Raoul never could. Raoul will romantically sweep you off your feet…into the sunrise, white stallion and all. The Phantom will seduce you—reach out to you, pulling you through his magical mirror, and lead you through a throne of dark secrets. He will crown you the queen of his underworld and take you under his blackened wings. He had done so for Christine Daaé.

He had awoken her womanhood… her longings**—**forbidden desires. The mesmerizing Phantom had seduced Christine in endless ways: first, his beautiful, hypnotic voice. Second, his mysterious, dark underground palace. And, soon after, his lustful affection and intimate touch awoke her.

Her loving Raoul did not cross Christine's mind once during these precious, few moments. During his final breaths, she would belong to him. Belong to her Angel of Music, maestro, unseen genius, to the Phantom, the Opera Ghost… to Erik. Only him. Sacrifice herself to him. Sacrifice herself to the man who, Christine knew, loved her more than Raoul... more than himself. And now, he had sacrificed his soul in her grace.

Her sympathetic gaze shifted from Erik's cursed half, to his beautiful side. She affectionately outlined his jaw with the softest, most caring touch. How was this possible? Erik possessed the face of Lucifer, and an insanely handsome gentlemen... all at once. In Christine's eyes, his blessed half overshadowed his cursed half. The Phantom was a stunning creature. Peacefully, Erik let his eyes close, appreciating Christine's tender affection and touch.

A warm and moist sensation replaced her soft hands. Christine's lips.

She sweetly pressed kisses all over his face, being sure not to neglect an inch of Erik. Christine's tears cascaded down her cheeks and onto Erik's, mingling their tears and heartache.

His breathing was becoming more and more shallow; his weeping eyes began to dry. She brought Erik's hand to her lips, kissing his deathly cold fingers. He felt the cool metal of Christine's gold ring rubbing against his skin. 'CD and Erik' was engraved on its underside; the smoldering band seemed to be scorching her flesh.

Christine and Erik knew they were parting. Despite Raoul, and all the tragic disturbances, somehow, someway, Erik and Christine had always remained as one.

For the very first time, they would be forced apart. Erik was heartbroken and felt more alone, now, than ever before. But, quite suddenly, he found Christine's sincere words and touch comforting him, eliminating his fears. Total serenity.

Erik found himself praying for the first time in his forty-some years. Praying his mortal sins would not follow him to the grave... beyond this cruel, hating world. Praying karma was nonexistent. Instead, perhaps, it was a deceitful illusion. A comforting, spiritual, guiding force; but, none the less, an illusion at heart. His white, porcelain mask... mirrored torture-chamber... Don Juan... 'magical' mirror... Angel of Music... cape; Erik was no stranger to illusions. Manipulated perceptions.

The 'human race' craves acceptance, affection, fulfilled desires, and passions. Denying his humanity only further proved he was, very much, a dedicated member of the human race. Had he not been doomed to such ill fate, Erik would have been the most distinguished of all men.

Twisted thoughts tortured Erik's mind_... Shall Satan shall finally embrace me? Will the Devil's Child be returned home? _

During Erik's last moments, Christine's angelic singing soothed his soul.

With a faint smile, Erik was gone.

But Erik knew his legacy had not ended. Through his Angel's voice and the Phantom's song…Erik would live on. The Phantom of the Opera would be heard.


	2. The Fallen Angel

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Chapter Two

The Fallen Angel

Erik was devoured by darkness once again.

He liked darkness. It was comfortable. Darkness understood him.

Yet, this darkness did not comfort Erik; it frightened him.

His thoughts painfully began spiraling into a distorted cyclone of visions, thoughts, and memories.

From his first breath of life, until his very last, his haunted past was relived. Recreated. Unmasked.

This cyclone of emotion was much more than a montage of his grim memories; it was a vivid commentary. A merciless recollection.

All at once, familiar faces confronted him. His life was relived in the third-person. This made perfect sense to Erik; during his life, he had made it an exhausting habit… referring to himself in the third-person. This dehumanized Erik, distancing himself from the malicious 'human race.'

...

Erik's mother, Madeline, proudly cradled her precious bundle... her baby. Her pretty eyes fully widened as she peeled away the soft blanket, meeting gaze with her angel for the very first time. She immediately blanketed the infant's grotesque half-face, and released him from her 'motherly' hold. Her son desperately cried for her comfort and affection. Madeline was mortified. Disgusted, confused... ashamed.

"No, it cannot be! This is no child of mine—this could only be a demon's child!"

In shame, she pushed the devil's child far from her cold touch. The family priest stepped forward, his eyebrows knitted. He collected the miserable bundle from the bed, affectionately nestling him. He was astounded; he could not believe such insolence!

"Do you birth this innocent soul, only to deny him life?"

Foolish superstition got the best of the new mother.

"Innocent, my Father? This thing is far from innocent. It is cursed—rightfully cursed!"

"As I, a holy man, and God as your witnesses, I promise you this: Should you so coldly reject this poor child, deny him life—you shall be rightfully doomed… for eternity! Yours' will be an irreparable sin!"

The priest offered the bundle to Madeline; she disgracefully held him in her weak grip.

The wise man continued, "What do you wish to name your son, Madeline? Hurry, out with his name! Right away, please! For he now shall be baptized—cleansed. And for this, he requires an identity… a name!"

"I do not care. Name the creature what you wish."

"Erik."

Erik had always wondered who he was named after. What past relative; from what inspiration his name was chosen. He had asked his mother the origin 'Erik.' Bitter silence was her reply.

The origin of the name Erik is Scandinavian.

The meaning of the name Erik is 'Always Ruler,' or 'Eternal Ruler.'

Madeline did not dare tell her son the powerful meaning of his name.

_My name... what amusing irony!..._ Erik chuckled to himself.

Right before Erik's eyes, the infant matured—he, now, saw himself as an adolescent. The eager youngster was seated in a tiny room, buried by a plethora of books, books, and more books. Empty music sheets surrounded Erik, patiently waiting to be filled with his musical brilliance. The two windows were boarded shut, sentencing Erik to complete darkness and isolation. A candle's subtle illumination brought light to his space. Erik now understood his love, his fascination for the dark.

He was born into darkness. As a man, Erik had thrived in the darkness of hell. It was only natural that Erik would die in darkness's arms. And he did.

A full-length mirror miraculously appeared before him, reflecting a masked child. Erik felt pain—terrible stinging. He averted his gaze from the masked youngster, down to his tingling hands—his adult hands. They were bleeding, and glass fragments protruded from his numb palms.

Young, unmasked Erik cried out, "Maman, maman! I am freighted, maman! Make the monster go away! A demon is stalking your bedchamber, maman! He is so hideous! So foul! He means us harm, maman!"

He was ten years old, and had seen his reflection, his face, for the first time. Erik sadly reminisced… Upon meeting gaze with his cursed self, Erik had defensively attacked the 'stalking demon,' ignorant to the concept of mirrors. His loathing mother had secured Erik's pitiful innocence .

Suddenly, a harmony of screams and cries penetrated Erik's mind. He was caged; imprisoned behind cold bars.

"Oh, he is so wonderfully ugly! What a delightful little demon!"

"Papa, what is wrong with him? His face burns my eyes!"

"Behold…the Devil's Child…"

Christine Daaé's angelic singing dominated Erik's thoughts, drowning the echoing shrieks. She appeared before him, beautiful as ever. Tears refused to rain from his eyes; Erik was no longer of flesh and bone. Yet, his heart ached just the same, if not worse. He reached out to her, offering Christine his affection and love.

Tearfully, "Angel of Music, you deceived me… I blindly gave you my mind… my tears for you grow cold…" Her voice and beauty faded away.

Persia—Erik found himself in Persia… under the Shah's violent wrath… power... manipulative control. He could feel a rope-burn ripping at his flesh. None other than Punjab lassos' wicked burn. The many victims of Erik's brutal executions tormented his mind. Erik's good friend, Darago—the Persian, chased away Erik's vengeful ghosts…

The Phantom tenderly pressed Christine into his mighty self. Her eyes fell heavy, closing at the ecstasy of his sensuous touch. A subtle smile lit her face. Don Juan. The 'Don Juan Triumphant' ordeal seemed too wonderfully ironic; a sly ensnarement, which had been set for Erik, soon contradicted itself. As a result of such twisted deceit, Christine became the trapped one... Bound within her own torn emotions... inner denial... hidden longings. There are so many things a mask cannot hide.

Erik was cruelly forced to relive Christine's betrayal… unmasking. Desperately, "Say you'll share with me… one love, one lifetime. Lead me—"

"…save me from my solitude," Christine completed his plea.

Alas! The Phantom was no longer holding his beloved—he had been replaced by another man. A handsome man... Once again, Raoul had come between their tender romance.

Raoul beckoned his sweetheart, "Let me be your freedom; let me be your light…"

Erik felt the delicious tease of Christine's tender kisses. "You are not alone, my angel…my beautiful…Erik."

Darkness consumed Erik again.

_Throw me into the Lake of Fire! Devil, embrace—torture your miserable child! Feed me to the flames! Bathe me in the sulfur and hellish lava! _

Being forced to relive these terrifying memories was the most torturous hell he could imagine. Was this Erik's destiny... his punishment? Constantly experiencing his despair, over and over again? Was hell a torture-chamber… a cruel house of mirrors?

Erik knew this house all too well… the house of mirrors. This cruel house was a constant reminder of his despair—never allowing sight outside the one-way glass… a taste of sweet life outside the prison of Erik's mind. Or, was this Purgatory… Hell's edge? Was this Fallen Angel suffering the burn of his mortal sins, as an act of redemption… purification?

Erik's pacing thoughts were interrupted; his atmosphere became overwhelming bright. He, who had lived without light, felt the brightness closing in on him. He needed the comfort of his dark world.

_Could this possibly be... Heaven?_

Two long, crimson curtains appeared before Erik; they begged to be unveiled.

What, possibly, could these two scarlet curtains be covering? What mystery would their unveiling reveal? Was the One responsible for Erik's ill fate hiding behind one of these curtains? Cowering with shame behind this tangible fabric? A pathetic, spooked dog... tail tucked beneath its wobbly legs?

What truth was waiting to be found?

Without the slightest hesitation, Erik tore away the two curtains. Behold—two dressing room mirrors! No—wait—one dressing room mirror; the other, a mirror from Erik's underground palace. Somehow, someway, Erik understood the mirrors' significances.

Two doors. Two paths. Two choices. Two fates.

Two illusions? No—one illusion. Erik knew the mirror belonging to his lair was an illusion… and a tempting illusion, at that. This mirror was once a part of Erik's false world. His 'house on the lake' merely was an artificial replica of Erik's ideal world. A world where appearance is disregarded and masks unneeded. Only ones' soul is valued; everything else would be unimportant… petty.

Christine cried out with resentment, "This haunted face, holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…" He shoved her bitter words from his thoughts.

However, the primma donnas' mirror represented truth… acceptance, love. It was behind this cold, unfeeling glass that Erik had his first taste of intimate desire… love. Christine Daaé, his Angel, had inspired Erik. Shed a first ray of light within his never-ending dark solitude.

Christine De Chagny's fate was suddenly revealed to Erik: She would abandon her beautiful voice, her singing. Constantly, she would be haunted by the ghosts of her past, eventually earning Raoul's resentment. Erik knew not much of his Angel's grim future, yet he knew enough…

Why must the lost child be, again, haunted by Erik? Couldn't she be guided, once again? And not guided by the hands of her false, fallen idol. Instead, guided beneath the loving Angel of Music's wings…

Christine's late father beckoned Erik…

"No one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him. He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad or disheartened. Then their eyes suddenly perceive celestial harmonies, a divine voice, which they remember all their lives… You will hear him one day, my child!"

Convinced by Daaé's promising words, Erik made his choice. Once again, he slid the magical mirror's one-way glass aside, carefully reuniting with his failed legacy. Returning to his Angel. His Angel of Music. His Christine Daaé.

Her prolonged destiny would now be fulfilled; he would be certain of this. He would do everything he could to make her believe again.

My beautiful Christine: Your promised angel, the Angel of Music, finally shall comfort you. Embrace you. Shelter you beneath his wings... his love.

My managers, Andre and Firmin: Let it be known—your affectionate, humble O.G. shall be returning home. Box five WILL be left empty.

Raoul De Chagny: Should you not comply with MY demands, woe onto you! Prepare for a disaster beyond your imagination—a tragedy far beyond your material kingdom. Spare your sword; forget Erik's magical lasso. The Angel of Music has no need for these palpable items.

The Angel of Music was born at last.

'The Angel of Music's Legend' was no longer myth.

Behold.

**A/n: Erik's childhood—and mid adulthood—is true to both Kay and Leroux's novels. His and Christine's relationship (and Erik's physical appearance) follows the musical and film. Also, I did not follow the film's ending. Don Juan Triumphant was performed, but Opera Populaire had not burned down.  
**

**A brief note… Italicized words are Erik's thoughts. Your Obedient and Humble Servant.**


	3. Weeping Angels

Chapter Three

Weeping Angels

Christine walked the length of the dark graveyard, her pretty face slumped downward. The harsh winter pained and numbed her. She hugged herself, sheltering herself from the bitter cold. She felt powerless against the sting of winter. With a deep 'sigh,' she met gaze with her dear father's resting spot. Daaé's tomb stood impressively before her. The oversized mausoleum was threatening to her. Death had selfishly stolen both her father and Erik. She felt orphaned all over again. She softly sobbed into a scarlet handkerchief, mourning her losses. A faint, familiar sound echoed the somber grave. It was the sound of weeping. Christine's tears ceased; tightly, she closed her eyes, returning herself to happier times.

Her closed eyes took Christine back to the comfort of her childhood. She saw pleasant visions of her father and Raoul. She could feel the campfire's warmth, and the charming tune of Daaé's violin. The two fond memories mended her broken soul. Silently, she wiped away descending tears from her pale cheeks. The piercing air seemed to freeze her lungs as she exhaled a deep sigh. Slowly, she opened her eyes, praying that she would find her father's warmth before her, rather than the cold of his grave. Instead of seeing her father's kind smile, Raoul's youthful grin, or the fire's golden flames, she saw death. Suddenly frightened, she observed her dark atmosphere, finding she was being encircled by death. The crying angels, black crosses, and lonely graves were closing in on her. Christine began to helplessly pant, her hot breath severing the air.

The familiar sound echoed the tomb, once again. The melody brought the swell of tears back in her eyes; it was a tune her father used to play for her. The sobbing violin grew louder and more intense. The beautiful music began to suffocate her, weaken her. Christine could not make sense of this phenomenon…of the singing grave. The music, which once comforted her, now, only terrified her. Would the past never rest in peace? Deciding she would forever remain victim to her missed memories, Christine rose from the icy ground. With a short sniffle, she turned from her father, and brushed wet snow from her skirts.

_Christine…_

Her frozen spine stiffened at the ecstasy of _his _beautiful, grave voice. From Death's shadows, he was calling for her, beckoning her. Christine's breathing grew shallower and shallower, weaker and weaker...

_Christine… _

The Angel of Music caught her in his wings as she gracefully spiraled to the snowy ground. Her body was limp and her complexion two shades fairer than its normal hue. She looked as though she were in the presence of a true phantom. Her fainted body rested lifelessly in the Angel's strong hold. Christine's blood-red lips parted, begging for his kiss. Erik leaned into the soft flesh of her mouth, devouring her sweet taste, breathing life into her. As his lips slid away from her still beauty, her lips sensually whispered a weak 'sigh.' Erik sang to her, visibly soothing her with his devastatingly beautiful music. It was an unearthly, flawless voice—that of a true angel's. Her sweet lips curved into a subtle smile as her Angel's song caressed her little ears.

Erik closely watched the fragile creature in his arms, his heart aching. With each of her strained breaths, he saw the rise of her breasts heave, its seductive rhythm mesmerizing him. His gloved hand uncontrollably ran through her chocolate curls. Erik smiled; she looked so peaceful, like the purest of all heaven's angels. He could hardly stomache such wicked torture, such tease. The delicate weight of her was crushing him; Christine was here, in the loving embrace of his arms, yet so far way, so out of his reach. Not able to resist, he dared to press another passionate kiss onto her ice-cold cheek. Again, his kiss was followed by an exhausted 'sigh.' It was unbearable; he loved her so much more than himself. She was perfection, and would always be his baby angel. Erik could have held her against the warmth of his chest, in his arms forever, and been completely content.

Her deliciously soft, amber curls tickled him. It was strange—Erik was no longer a man of flesh and blood, yet, still reacted to even the simplest touch… sensation. The red of her lips heated him, sending a chain of wonderful tingles throughout his stiff body. He glanced down at her adorable flawlessness, his heart soaking up every inch of his Christine Daae. Poor Christine… Erik had not meant to frighten her. He only had wished to comfort her. Feel her softness in his lonely arms one more time.

Christine's breathing began to grow stronger. Soon, she would wake. And what would she see? Erik wondered to himself. According to his tale, the Angel of Music remains unseen…only his brilliance heard. But, he had yet to sprout white wings or become encircled by a golden halo; he still looked like Erik. Could she taste her loving angel's kiss? As she began to wake, her full lashes gracefully fluttered. He took her away from Death's home.

He stood in his underground palace, Christine tucked into his chest, no more than a heartbeat later...

Gently, Erik laid her in his swan bed. Her long amber strands fanned against the rosy pillow. Erik thought of another time… another time she had collapsed in his arms, was put to rest in this same bed. She had unmasked her angel, making him fallen. But now, the white porcelain of his face would not budge, would not unmask. It seemed to have become a part of him, inseparable to his existence. So far, Erik could not find much difference between life and death. In both, he was isolated, lonely, and heartbroken. In both he could not have his Christine.

Christine's amber eyes began to soak up the brightness of his lair. She gracefully stretched her elegant limbs, disappearing. He had lost her again; Christine was gone. Only cold, empty, sheets lay before him. Tenderly, he petted where his beloved's body just was. It had not been an illusion, for, the blankets were still warm from her brief presence. Erik ran his hands over the cool of his mask. Dampness. His tears stained the silk of his glove. Just when he thought there would be no more tears shed, only inward sorrow, Erik was proved wrong.

* * *

Christine woke, finding her cheeks drenched. She was in her Opera Populaire bedchamber. Her dream had been so real. He had kissed her, held her close to his body, swaying, soothing her with his beautiful words. She could still feel the tender warmth of his lips, the flawless rhythm of his song. He _had _come to her. The slow beating of his heart and dying breaths haunted her. Her loving Erik.

_How could I have waited so long to reach out to my angel? I had given Erik my touch…my lips…my vow…my love…and it had been too late. My love had killed sweet Erik—now, if only it could revive him. _

She loved him. She missed him.

Christine nestled her damp face into her pillow. She closed her eyes, imagining his songs, his passion, his amorous touch… She ran her hand across the cotton sheet, resting it under her chin. Her movement ceased—she felt something…something velvety, something smooth—something was gently rubbing her skin. She perked her head up, off her pillow, narrowing her eyes. Christine's heart nearly stopped as tears blanketed her cheeks.

There it was…in the moonlight's soft glow, rested a crimson rose—a black, silk ribbon tied around its stem.

**A/n: Thank you! Hope you enjoyed. Ooh guess what? I really love reviews! :) **


	4. StarCross'd Lovers

Chapter Four

Star-Cross'd Lovers

_Christine…_

He calls to me. In my sleep, my Angel's voice sings his beautiful songs in my mind—they echo, they plead, they leave me in tears. And, in my dreams, he is there. Erik finds me in my dreams, and we hold each other, as if we never intend to let go. Our tender hearts race against each others and our tears mingle, joining our heartache, our mutual love. Erik offers me his outreached hand, waiting eagerly for my acceptance. And, when I accept, he smiles. My hand grips his hand, massaging the silk of his glove. His smile widens. I return his warmth, feeling a sense of completeness. Something about his distant affection, something indescribable and beautiful, soothes my troubled, empty soul.

Erik, my loving Angel of Music, spirals me into his tight embrace. He kisses my chocolate curls, savoring me. Then, he presses me tightly to his own powerful body, entwining our two forms, our two existences. He soars up, up into Apollo's Lyre, far, far away from humanity, away from everything.

In Apollo's Lyre there is only Erik and I. Me, my Angel, and his music. My voice is reborn there; he confesses his sadness. I, once again, have devastated my poor Angel…I have neglected the heavenly voice he had gifted me. I have disowned my Angel, shunned him. How could I? I apologize, and then reassure my loyalty for him with a song. His devastation seems to fade with each aria; with each note, his fragile heart seems to heal, its emptiness filled. I sing only for My Angel of Music. Only him, always him. He knows this, and it upsets him. The Angel of Music explains how he wishes I would sing for myself…that my songs complete him, and he wishes they could complete me as well. He promises that my voice is a special, stunning thing, and not to be neglected. Ever. It is unlike any other voice—it is the voice of a true, breathing angel.

I ask him if he has always been the Angel of Music. The beautiful side of his face bears a single tear, and he whispers 'no.' He says his visits, his purpose, is to inspire my forgotten voice. Then, I cry when he says I give him life, an existence. If it weren't for me, Erik would have vanished, taking the form of a true phantom. I sob and he gingerly wipes away my tears—kisses away my tears.

Yes, I have been kissed by a true angel! But, only will he kiss my forehead, sometimes, if I am lucky, a quick peck on my parted lips. I don't know why. Perhaps, he knows I am a married woman…a countess. But, why can't my dream become a fantasy? I can dream can't I? Two beings embrace me, and all at once! Erik, and Angel. I love and appreciate them both. I know his is still disfigured, deformed; both his poor heart and face still are tormented, always reminding him of his suffering. Oh, how I long to kiss away all his scars! Remove their treacherous burden! Free him. Can Erik not assume the basic desires of a flesh and blood man? Why does he insist to deny me!

He forces a smile, his beautiful, glowing smile, and asks if Raoul is taking care of me. If Raoul has kept his promise…led me into light…away from the lonely shadow of darkness. I 'sigh' and say yes, simply because I know it is what he wishes to hear. He seems to see through my white lie, behind my gentle 'sigh' and false 'yes.' He says nothing, but those glowing eyes whisper his every secret, his every disappointment.

I love Raoul, I really do! He is a beautiful, gentle man. But, he is not my Angel. My Angel of Music, my Erik.

Oh, and then, my little heart skips a beat or two! Because, every so often, I find proof of _his_ visits. A velvet, crimson rose, dressed in a satin ribbon; or maybe, a musical composition, evidence of his brilliance, notes and all! My loving father, have I finally gone mad? Or, have you really sent me the Angel of Music, at last?

This is so dangerous! I retire to my bedchamber earlier and earlier every night, and sleep in later and later every morning. For, my dreams, my late night rendezvous with an angel is a truly beautiful thing. Then, I wake… sometimes it is the day's light which disturbs my peaceful slumber, other times it is Raoul's sweet kiss. Nonetheless, I wake. I return to the human race, and leave my lonely angel. He is left alone in Apollo's Lyre, patiently waiting for me to sleep again.

It seems our love has been doomed from the start! What a stunning man he is, cursed, and so forced to wallow in hell's shadow. And, he dies for me. But is it not truly a miraculous thing… he found me, in my loneliness, and brought beauty back into my life? Oh, I cannot help but wonder…are we, my Angel and I, star-crossed lovers?

_Erik, the Angel of Music…_

Every night I die, and every evening I am born again; resurrected, awakened. Her soft touch and lovely voice breathes life into me. She, my baby angel, gives me my wings. I clutch her to my breast, never wanting to let her go. She is as nervous as I, for the proof lay in her thumping breasts. I hold her tightly, and her sweet heart pounds against my own. I want to ease her restlessness, but cannot. She longs for me, her Angel, and knows our strange love is only found in her dreams. She settles herself in the comfort of my wings, and I lead my little angel to sweet music's throne…Apollo's Lyre. There, she sings. Her beautiful voice is born, and, I as well.

I am selfish and bitter. I am certainly not the conventional concept of 'divinity.' I possess endless 'human' traits! Jealousy, desires, intimacy, and more. I hate returning her to him—to Raoul. It kills me. My heart aches when I see him kiss her, touching her in every way I wish I could. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear, whispering promises and vows only meant for her to know. Little does Raoul know, he whispers into my ear, as well. She smiles and I cry inwardly.

Sometimes, he even makes love to her. I give her a voice, strange comfort, and my love—never the intimate touch…the touch of a true lover. I am sad, but, force myself to accept this. Perhaps, some men are not made for such earthly pleasures. I accept my fate and continue to fulfill mine and my adorable Angel's destiny… She belongs to him in daylight; she belongs to me in my darkness, Apollo's Lyre.

I cannot help but worry and wonder; the moment Christine stops dreaming of me, is the moment I shall be stripped of my wings…The very moment my legacy will end. Our legacy. Our heavenly affair. I shall rightfully die without her, for it is my sweet Angel which gives Erik, the man, and the Angel of Music meaning. Our bond is an exquisite bond; one the human race could never know.

When will my Angel stop looking for me in her dreams? When, again, will we be forced apart?

One day, the ghost's love story will have to come to an end.


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

Loved for Himself & Continuation of the Ghost's Love Story

One night, Christine dreamnt no more. She no longer sought dreams; for the first time, Christine yearned to live.

Christine knew - her Angel of Music, her loving Erik, no longer existed solely within slumber. In her voice, her song - they were reunited. The star-cross'd lovers shared their passion for music and each other.

Raoul and Christine De Chagny were to live a long, carefree life, bearing many children, all happy and healthy. Christine birthed a boy, whom she didn't hesitate to name 'Erik.' Little Erik was as brilliant as the Angel of Music... beautiful, in every which way. He too, would keep Erik's song alive.

The De Chagnys were happy. Raoul owned Christine's heart; Erik would, forever, claim her soul.

Erik no longer cursed Raoul; his demons had been to put to rest. For, Raoul took great care of Christine - nothing could have pleased Erik more - for the time being.

Erik, the Angel of Music, Phantom of the Opera, O.G., smiled down from Apollo's Lyre.

For the first time... Erik was alive.

When Christine De Chagny's time had passed, Erik would embrace her with open arms. Just as his Christine Daaé had.

As for his earthly remains:

_"The skeleton was lying near the little well, in the place where the Angel of Music first held Christine Daae fainting in his trembling arms, on the night when he carried her down to the cellars of the opera-house. _

_Surely they will not bury it in the common grave!...I say that the place of the skeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National Academy of Music. It is no ordinary skeleton."_

Some say, until this very day... those who dare to venture into the Phantom's rumored domain... each night, a duet of the most exquisite kind lightens his underworld.

* * *

A/n: I sincerely hope any and all readers enjoyed this phic... and were somewhat touched. : ) I admit - I was fairly disappointed/sad upon receiving few comments - but, took great pleasure in writing it, nonetheless.

Please don't hesitate to leave behind any and all thoughts. Yes, it's completed - but I'd still very much take to heart anything you guys have to say. : )

Since I was very, very young, I've had a very profound connection to POTO... and so, this was a bit emotional for me to write.

Quoted text was taken directly from Leroux's Epilogue. In case you haven't read, the final chapter is entitled, 'The End of the Ghost's Love Story.'

Lastly, humongous thank you to:

ThePhantom'sLuver1221

The Duelist's Heiress

Leangedemusique

YYsu

IntertwinedDestinies

Mike'sGrrl

The Cure

And everyone else who has love for our Phantom.


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